


Scales of Justice

by 3Pancake



Category: Tyranny (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:12:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15130820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3Pancake/pseuds/3Pancake
Summary: There was once a Fatebinder who was trying to understand the law and all its contradictions. However, when you don't understand, sometimes it's better to stay quiet instead of keeping asking... Justice is a strict mistress, but those who serves her are usually stricter, for they are not - and can't be - separated from their emotions.





	Scales of Justice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SkyPusher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyPusher/gifts).



> (Hello! First quote is of Bleden Mark from when you're on Rebel path. Since I didn't play with the original language, I am not sure if that's exact sentence that was used in game, so don't quote me on that. But the spirit of what Mark meant is here, so let's stick with it, okay?  
> Enjoy the story, thanks for listening!)  
> For my Panda.

„That’s the cute thing about you, Fatebinders. Tunon teaches you so much about law, and then you stick the law inside your asses and think you’re so smart.”

When they gave her a choice: rightful punishment or rebranding, death or leaving the way of stealing and killing, there was no point or need to think about it. Tanova had one principle in her life, and it was “my life is important”. She had always thought she would pick tortures over death sentence hands down, and that nothing couldn’t be endured if it wasn’t supposed to kill you in the process. And besides, life as a criminal wasn’t good, it was a terrible nightmare of constant hunger or fearing your so-to-say comrades. Of course, sometimes it was amazing, sometimes you were meeting people you loved and sometimes the heist was so good you were living like a king and eating like one, but those occasions were scarce. So when they said: become one of us and live like a decent person, she instantly forgot about all of her previous friends. It was always every man for himself anyway.  
During the time of learning there was but a few of them. She particularly liked Joan, a woman of quiet attitude and perfect aim, two things really worthy in Tanova’s eyes, used to searching for trusted and dependable people. The rest was not that interesting, besides, some of them disappeared in the process, and some lost this or that part of their body during fighting classes.  
Fighting classes were amazing, they felt like home. Tanova was surprised to see how much Fatebinders had to focus on how to attack or track someone down, it was definitely different from what she expected. You had to have a great brain for grasping all the principles and laws, but you had to also have a great, athletic body and amazing reflex to keep yourself alive to be able to even deliver those principles and laws. And how amazing it was, great Kyros! She once told Joan it was much like her previous thug life, except now everyone was impressed by you rather than scared or biased, and you looked so much cooler with a sword in one hand and the Codex of Kyros in the other, and with elegant, durable clothes instead of some rags.  
So she was good with fighting and wasn’t afraid to state it aloud, much to annoyed amusement of Bleden Mark, who never missed a chance during the course to remind her of her place and often said “Kid, you’re really not THAT good”. She earned some limbs breaking during the whole time, but really liked to recall that one occasion when he deliberately broke her right arm in fight and she, despite the pain, still managed to attack him with the left one, using the fact that she was always left-handed to the fullest. Of course, it resulted in some dislocation and hurt like hell for the next few weeks, but the hint of appreciation in the Archon of Shadows’ eyes was totally worth it.  
It took her a long time to take to learning laws. At first she had thought it was far too complicated for a person who had just learned how to read, but after that it got more and more approachable and, surprisingly, fascinating. During her time in gangs she learned to not be afraid of her superior and to speak her mind and fight for her haul or plans, and she brought that attitude to the lectures of Tunon. It was clear he didn’t like her confrontational ways, but on the other hands he seemed to be delighted by complicated law questions or inquiries, and she had a lot of those. At first, she thought she was just too stupid for all of it and asked questions to understand contradictions in Kyros’ codex. Then she thought these problems were equally obvious for everyone, but only she had the balls to engage the formidable Adjudicator in discussion. It wasn’t until much later when she realized she was usually far ahead of the rest of group, and that realization was preceded with accusation of ass-licking. It made her really pissed off, to the point of picking fight with a much older guy and a following harsh punishment from Fatebinders, but from the distance she saw it as a turning point. She realized she was actually pretty smart, so she braced herself and learned much harder from that point. Rhogalus, Calio, finally Tunon himself were very pleased. Recognition felt great.  
There was something really besetting about the Archon of Justice. She couldn’t help but think about it and ask questions that earned her a lot of ire from him. He was just, and everyone knew this, like he was made of justice and breathed justice and wasn’t even able to do anything unjust. It felt unlikely, because his definition of justice was flexible, yet firm. “What can be justified is lawful, and what is lawful can be justified.” That was one of the biggest dilemma she had in that “law-school”. During her previous years of youth, justice was simple: if you had a good group, or sided with dependable people, you were sharing things equally. If someone failed, you helped them, unless they did it on purpose to endanger the rest, then you kicked them and took their loot, and watched your back from now on when they were around. If the group wasn’t alright, you were fighting tooth and nail to get what you deserved, and you deserved more, the more you did to earn it. If you were on a look-out, you earned some. If you were doing the heist, stealing from under people’s noises and then running away chased by some lawful folks – you earned a lot. And if anyone tried to do something wrong – attack you, set you up, anything like that – you had the right to fight, hurt and mutilate and expect your friends to help you. That was simple and that was right.  
And Tunon’s justice, or rather: Kyros’ justice, was nothing of that sort. Kyros decided if you had your uses or not, if you deserved anything or not, and you yourself weren’t the important part in the equation. Whatever you were doing, it wasn’t for your own sake, it was for Kyros’s. If Kyros so decided, you had to drop everything and start doing something entirely different, even if you knew shit about it. Kyros created the right to judge people basing on her personal caprice, and since she herself couldn’t pay attention to everyone, she used her Archons. Some of them were crazy, some of them were straight mental and were doing whatever they wanted, and that was alright. Unless someone filed an official complaint to one of the Fatebinders or just to the court, Archons could make decisions based on their own laws, even if they stood in contradiction to Kyros’ laws. It was like in the worst kind of ring, where the leader thought he was a god to everyone and raped and killed whoever he pleased, and took all for himself. That wasn’t justice, that was a law of the strongest.  
Bleden Mark once said, that “justice” is the name of the biggest sword in the country. At first, she thought he was being cynical, apparently he had a lot of it. But later, she realized he was absolutely right. And from that point learning Kyros’ principles became much easier and much harder at the same time. Easier, because she understood she didn’t get what justice is at all, but harder, because now she had no idea what justice should be.  
And who should know the answer, if not the Archon of Justice, right? It turned out that he didn’t like to give such answers. For him, justice was obvious, and the law was right, and either you understood it, or you were worthless as a Fatebinder. How could you understand it, he once replied with a cold voice, much colder and more formidable than ever, how could you understand what makes justice just? Codex of Kyros, he said then. You are learning it, you are reading the principles, trying to grasp it, and if you study them hard enough, the justice will become a clear path. Not an easy one, if you are questioning the order of things, but obvious for those who know their place and the name of what is right. The name of Kyros.  
For some time after such reply and, what’s more important, after such cold fury, she lost her appetite for understanding and for questions, and tried to focus on studying the laws. But the more she studied, the clearer she saw it. It wasn’t only about contradictions, because after years of learning she understood finally that contradictions were normal in law and that was why you needed to follow its spirit and not its letter. But the problem laid in the whole idea. The law of Kyros was focused on one principle: Kyros is right, don’t defy them, for they are an unstoppable power and will crush all who oppose them. But where could it lead? People who didn’t want to hear criticism usually didn’t end up well, blinded by their own superiority. We are not here to consider Kyros ways, scolded her Tunon with ire so obvious she feared for her life, for Kyros is right, and Kyros is above your petty mind and petty doubts. You are but a voice for Overlord’s law, nothing more than a worm elevated to the highest honor it could achieve. You reek of independent thinking, he finished with his gavel hitting the ground, the noise deafening and leaving her heart and hands shaking. Joan told her that day she had to stop making him furious, and she agreed. They both had been official Fatebinders for some time then, and now quite often they judged people in the court. It was obvious soon they would be able to go to the wide world of Kyros’ lands to serve and adjudicate among people, Joan with better views for it than Tanova for sure. They sometimes talked, with careful words and sentences cut in half, that it would be better to judge away from the watchful eyes of other Fatebinders, especially Calio, of Bleden Mark and Tunon. And, for sure, much safer. Little did they know back then what future held for them. Joan didn’t know how big role she would play.  
Tanova didn’t know she would never leave the court.

It happened shortly before the conquest of Tiers. She used to talk with Adjudicator a lot, mostly to dispel her own fears and doubts, but also – and she never realized she was doing that until it was too late – to convince him she was right. For some reason Tunon was humoring himself with such talks, probably for the sake of straightening her mind, a task demanding, but probably worthwhile in his eyes if her mind was really that good. Or rather: good enough to waste time on it.  
She started stating her queries carefully, for she didn’t know how to understand one of the last trials. She would have let the man go free, but Nunoval decided for a punishment of cutting off one hand, and Tunon gladly approved. The Adjudicator was as patient as always, she even thought that she caught a tone of contentment in his voice; and it wasn’t impossible, the Archon of Justice apparently loved teaching. But even with his patient words, she still saw a glaring contradiction to Kyros’s law about everyone having a purpose. Tunon explained. She disagreed. She gave an example, Tunon discarded it with annoyance. She tried another one, he criticized her judgment. She stated Kyros law was too rhetoric. He coldly said that the problem was not rhetoric, but justifying. She said: you can justify everything. He reminded her: if you can, it is lawful. She said, how can you justify killing and disabling people for nothing. He reminded, louder with every word, that crossing Kyros is not “nothing”. Then she blurted out:  
“There’s only one Kyros’ principle worth noticing, and it’s the first one, because only in that one Kyros at least SUGGESTS they don’t only care about themselves and are protecting only themselves with all those ‘just as hell’ laws.”  
And that was one sentence too much.  
It was also the last sentence in general.  
She never heard such voice, bloodcurdling, furious and vicious, as his at that moment. He hit the ground with his gavel, and sentenced her.  
“For forgetting your place, for sowing dissent and for obstinacy in staying on the path of the wrong, and above all, for blaspheming the name of Kyros, I sentence you for a collar of red hot iron, to remind you what you are to the Overlord and to this court.”  
It was the voice of judgment, the voice that couldn’t be denied. For a second she didn’t fully grasp what he meant. All ringing in her ears was a disbelief that something like that even happened, and, a few seconds later, the fact that he didn’t sentence her to death. She thought she could take any torture, if they are not supposed to kill her. She thought, for one stupid second, she would be okay.  
It was Nunoval and Calio that accompanied her to the smith. Workers looked at her with fear and curiosity, but those who were supposed to carry on the sentence didn’t look at her at all. They had focused eyes and steady hands when they prepared two halves of iron rim, when they checked if they would fit her neck, and even when they heated them up. And up. And more.  
She almost fell when she saw red hot semi circles.  
They sat her on a chair, Nunoval held her arms still, and after a moment a few workers came too, to grab her legs and hands. Calio was standing in front of her, with sympathy badly hidden on her face, ready to start the punishment. Red hot iron was held with tongs. The smiths moved closer. The closer the iron was, the more heat Tanova felt, and she didn’t know if all that was true or was it just her imagination. It was hotter and hotter. On Calio’s sign, the smiths joined two halves of iron together on her neck.  
She was screaming. And screaming. And screaming.

 

It didn’t kill her. It wasn’t supposed to kill her; apparently when you punish a member of your court family, you also prepare all the medical help ready for them.  
Her own scream woke her up in the bed in some recovery place, probably a temple or a sages’ house. The iron had to be still on her neck, she tried to tear it down, but then it became obvious she was scratching her own burned skin, because there was nothing on it anymore. And yet she felt it and screamed and couldn’t shut up, and it was more and more painful with every vibration in her throat and it never stopped until someone knocked her out. Every time she woke it was just the same, minus her screams. She still did scream, but she didn’t hear it anymore. Every time she was awaken she wished she was dead.  
It took a long time for her to be able to move her head without crying out in pain. Even longer for drinking anything. Ages until she was able to eat solid food. But one thing didn’t change, even when she finally got up, even when she was ready to look in a mirror to see the crimson red collar of burned skin on her neck, even when she went back home. She couldn’t speak. They told her it was a miracle she was alive, a miracle that her throat wasn’t melted into a pulp. The ability to speak was a small price for that, they said. She didn’t reply.  
When she went back to the court, she didn’t really know what to do or where to go. Was it still a place for her? Was she still wanted there? She knew what would happen if she ran away now – that would be even more of a treason and Bleden Mark would kill her, maybe mercifully considering they were a part of the same team. So she had to go there and hear what to do now. A smart woman with the ability to write and the lack of ability to talk could find some uses, she thought grimly, blinking desperately not to let herself cry. There was no point in crying anyway.  
In the court everyone was looking at her and then something stroke her. If there was one thing Tunon liked more than an adequately severe punishment, it was making an example. And she was an example for everyone who dared to question Kyros’ law inside this court. Suddenly she knew she was still needed here and that they wouldn’t kick her out. She was a walking example of Kyros’ mercy.  
When Tanova walked past her, Calio briefly held her hand. Later Rhogalus came to her and gave her a quill and a parchment. When she frowned at him with an unspoken question, he said, clearly uncomfortable and even a bit ashamed:  
“Well, you will need to communicate somehow, so I thought, writing is a good answer.”  
She thanked him with a bow, and then moved on. Nunoval was nowhere to be found, and when it came to Joan, she had been absent for a long time by then, far to the east of the Kyros’ empire. Tunon was at his regular place, above all people, judging majestically with no drop of doubt in his heart, if he had one.  
She stepped up and bowed deeply before him, and then she raised her head. She was looking straight at him, for the first time ever having no troubles with maintaining such “eye-contact” with the Adjudicator. Somehow, there was nothing formidable about him now. There was nothing worse he could do to her anyway, and if he tried, she thought to herself, she would just bite off her tongue.  
“Fatebinder Tanova” he said, the voice calm and unmoved, the mask hollow. It felt like hours, before he finally added “Join me upstairs.”  
The faces of pity or disdain followed her to the stairs, and only when she was halfway up she stopped noticing them. Every step was harder, stairs seemed to float and run from under her feet. Ages later she was walking towards Tunon. Every step was loud in the almost empty room.  
“Tanova” said the Adjudicator and she bowed again. There was silence when Archon was searching for words, and even through her numbness she noticed he was trying to be careful. “I believe you understood what happened, both the symbolic and quelling parts.”  
She raised her hand and touched the mark in disbelief. Tunon nodded.  
“The law we are serving is harsh, but also informative. You were spared from a death sentence for a reason.”  
She felt she frowned her eyebrows. It was a bad idea to frown at the Adjudicator, but oh who cared.  
“That reason was to stop a valuable member of the court from destroying not only herself, but also everything we are building here. To save a great mind, so it can still serve Kyros, instead of feeding the cold ground. Do you understand what I am telling you?” His question, asked in calm, yet warning voice, was not chilling her bones anymore. Her mind was indeed trying to grasp the meaning. Did he mean mercy? Did he mean being an example? Did he really mean an active service as a Fatebinder? Did he mean he didn’t have to spare her and she owed him?  
Tunon was looking at her as if he could hear her thoughts. Finally, he nodded. “There is justice and there is conflict. There is a hammer of justice and the ground it stands for. There is no balance in the world. Only constant fight.”  
Suddenly she remembered the parchment Rhogalus gave her. She took it out and started to write, using the floor as a table. Then, with a bow full of gratefulness, she gave it to Archon.  
What are my duties now, Your Honour?  
Tunon read the note much longer than it would take to decipher seven words. When he spoke, his voice was distant:  
“I remember Bleden Mark pointed out how skilled you are in close combat. I want you to train other officials here.”  
Tanova nodded, then bowed again, as if she wanted to say some ornate goodbye, then turned back. When she was on the stairs again, she just dropped herself to the floor. Sitting on those stairs was unthinkable, yet she couldn’t force herself to care by now. What was the problem, if no one was around to see her?  
Shadows next to her condensed in the shape of Bleden Mark, giving her a bit of a heart attack. The man looked down at her, yet she didn’t find it in herself to get up and greet him properly. Maybe it was because he usually pretended to be really laid back about all the manners here.  
“He fucked you up, didn’t he?” She heard, and for the first time in a long time there was no hint of sarcasm in the Shadow’s voice. She stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded. The realization of how right he was took her breath away.  
“Now, kid” Bleden Mark sat down next to her on the floor on top of the stairs. He couldn’t have ever surprised her more. “You have some options here, especially considering the fact you’re here and not somewhere away, as everyone expected.”  
She shrugged. People probably thought she was crazy to come back.  
“You can sit here forever and cry, or you can get up, get some good blades and help me shape those useless pampered fools. Or you can pick up a hobby, since you’re gonna have a lot of time.”  
The woman turned towards him, frowning questioningly. Bleden Mark gave her a mischievous smile:  
“Since you won’t waste your time on talking anymore.” It was so blunt she looked at him with her mouth opened in shock. He chuckled, and since she couldn’t yell at him, she did an equivalent and tried to hit him in the face.  
Halfway there she realized what she wanted to do and felt terrified, but couldn’t stop herself at that point. The Archon of Shadow stopped her hand without any effort.  
“I’ll let it slide this time, don’t worry. I’d say do it more often, you looked less dead inside.”  
For a second she was thinking about writing him something, but what she meant couldn’t be put in words, so she just shook her head.  
“Listen, kid” he said, suddenly more quiet and much more serious. “Talking is just one thing. You have other senses too. Learn to use them, make yourself important because of what you know or can do, and you’ll get untouchable. That no talking thing may actually do you some good, if you use it.” There must have been too much confusion in her eyes, because he whispered quickly: “Think of it. Everyone is afraid of those who know and don’t jabber about it. And think of that too: Tunon didn’t kill you, even if he had all the reasons to. Why?”  
When she leaned towards him, hungry for answers and with burning eyes, Bleden Mark suddenly stood up. He smiled and said, already disappearing:  
“That’s today’s riddle for you. Think hard.”  
After one heartbeat she was alone on the stairs again, but this time much less in despair. Now she was focused. Wasn’t it kinda what Tunon said? Did they both talk about the same reason, or was there more to it?  
Could she make herself useful?  
And safe?  
And important enough to make something out of all that?  
Could silence be that powerful?  
She absent-mindedly headed towards the training room. If there was anything left of her burned ambition, the Archon of Shadow took it out for her to see. A little, weak seed of new life. She decided to take care of it.


End file.
